First Sunday of Advent

The season of Advent in the liturgical calendar of the year pre-dates the establishment of the date for the birth of Jesus on December 25th. That date was chosen by Constantine the Great in the early 300s since it was the date on which he, before his conversion, and many of the Romans still celebrated the feast of the Sun God. He thought it appropriate for Christians to celebrate the birth of the Son of God on that day since the Scriptures did not indicate when exactly Jesus was born.

In its origin the season of Advent was meant to be a time to look forward to and rejoice in the Second Coming of Christ. Because of this the readings for the First Sundays of Advent always refer to the end of the world and/or the Second Coming of Christ. After Christmas was established, the readings for the following Sundays of Advent look forward to the First Coming of Jesus.

So the Gospel reading for this First Sunday of Advent refers to the Second Coming of Jesus. This particular reading does not refer to His coming at the end of time, when the world as we know it will be destroyed. Rather it highlights the fact that Jesus’ Second Coming to individuals will come at different times for different people: “one is taken, one left”. Since one doesn’t know when this will happen, one must be prepared to receive Him whenever He comes.

The Church would have us prepare for this coming with joy and hope and not fear. The priest who taught us preaching once used an example that he thought we might be able to use, especially at the funeral of someone who had died unexpectedly or at a young age. He asked us: “do you think that you would be able to persuade a baby in the womb of its mother to come out? You might say: but if you come out, you would be able to see the sun and the moon, bright colours and the wonders of creation. The baby would probably say: I’m quite happy where I am, since I don’t know what seeing means. You could then say: but if you come out, you would have freedom of movement – you could walk, run, lift things, travel. The baby would probably say: I am quite happy; I can move about here and even kick my mother every now and then; I don’t need more movement than that. You might then say: but if you come out you would be able to eat all kinds of delicious food. And the baby would say: I am getting all the nourishment I need right now.” I think it would be very hard to persuade someone to come into a new life which they cannot even imagine when they feel comfortable and safe where they are. So our teacher concluded that we must remind people that dying will be the greatest adventure we ever have. We will live a new life – one that we in this world cannot even imagine. We may not necessarily look forward to it, but we can be sure that it will be an adventure.

In many parables in the Gospels we are told that it will be an adventure that is filled with greater happiness than anything we can imagine here on earth. One time I visited a cousin who was dying. She asked to talk with me alone. She told her husband, her daughter and my brother to leave the room. I presumed she wanted to go to confession. But that was not it. She said: “Fr. Larry, do we know that there is a heaven?” How I wished I could have said: yes, we know; but I could not do that. I told her: “we don’t know, but we do believe there is a heaven and God wants us to be there with God and all God’s people.” She said: OK – you can call back my husband, daughter and your brother. She asked that we join hands and pray. When I was leaving she joked about what would be some of the first things she would want to do when she got to heaven.

There is so much we don’t know about heaven, but we do know one thing. A friend once sent me an email with a story about a woman who was talking with her parish priest about her funeral. After talking about the songs and readings she wanted she said: “Father, I want you to put a fork in my hand when I am in the casket.” The priest was confused: “why a fork?” She said that as children when they had a big feast, if, when the plates were being collected, we were told to hold on to our forks we knew: THE BEST IS YET TO COME!